


the hand that feeds

by greenghoul (alishakes)



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Healing, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, anyway aerti just makes me Soft, but it's atypical self harm i guess, i promise this gets soft near the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-17 16:01:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20623718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alishakes/pseuds/greenghoul
Summary: When Tifa gets stressed, the urge to scratch, to feel, takes over. Her knuckles itch with it.AKA Tifa just needs a helping hand and maybe a healing hand too.





	the hand that feeds

Tifa liked to think she was a straightforward person. Her opinion of herself was that she's nothing more than a simple girl with simple needs and simple values. If it ain't broke, don't find a way to fix it- that kinda thing. All she wanted was what she needed, and that was that. 

But Aerith, _ Gaea, _Aerith made her want.

She wanted to be the reason for Aerith’s small, private smiles and soft chuckles. She wanted to wake and be greeted by the sight of sleep bleary green eyes, greeted by the sound of a tinkling voice roughened by rest, greeted by the smell of wild flowers clinging to a loose chestnut braid. She wanted to be handled with the same reverence that Aerith’s flowers were. Thoughts of being held between delicate fingertips, caressed into blooming, stroked towards the sunlight, consumed Tifa’s mind. Tifa wanted it all, and more.

Aerith made her want with a ferocity that scared her.

So Tifa vowed to keep the secret to herself- the ‘if it ain’t broke’ mentality coming in hot again. No use breaking their friendship- and truly it was a friendship she treasured- for the sake of some unnecessary feelings. But it was hard sometimes to not just give into her wants, her selfish wants. She caught herself a few times latching onto the end of Aerith’s laugh-

_ it sounds like golden bells and rings like platinum and smells of home and Gaia, if Tifa were a weaker woman she’d fall to her knees and weep at the sound. it sounds like loving and being loved and everything other than that and in between and it sounds like completion and- _

only to shake herself out of it, berate herself, and promise the swell of emotions clawing its way up her chest that she’ll tell her eventually.

But for tonight? Tifa just had to suffer in silence.

They had their own room tonight, for once, finally coming across an actual patch of hospitable land and not just the endless wilderness. They were a bed apart, and Tifa couldn’t sleep, too consumed by errant thoughts. Ordinarily, Tifa would take a walk or find somewhere to train or do something to induce exhaustion, but she didn’t want to risk waking Aerith. Everyone knows they could all do with a good night’s rest. Waking Cloud and asking for his guidance had been an option she’d considered, but she wasn’t really prepared for his brusque answers, nevermind his funny ones. Tifa could never tell what mood he was in anymore. 

Training definitely had its own appeal though. As a simple woman, she maintained the philosophy that any problem could be solved if you punched the problem or something else hard enough. Monsters usually served as ample stress relief, but being in Cosmo Canyon as they were, Tifa figured that the trek back would only get her antsy again with nothing to fight. So, jittering it was then. 

Rising from the soft mattress, she stood, her back to Aerith and face to the door. Leaving an escape route. Bare feet upon carpet, she rolled between the heels and balls of her feet, rocking between them. With the tension in her ankles released, she added the knees, shaking away the stiffness of inactivity. Rhythmic in her movement, she stretched up, fingers interlaced, pushed up towards the ceiling, extending her body, making it as long as possible. She relaxed. Tensing and relaxing. Stretching and releasing.

Like her own experience with Aerith- tense at first like a strained rubber band or the knee lifting to kick out. Of course the two of them had friction at first- how was Tifa to trust an outsider no matter how earnest looking her eyes were? Just because Cloud explained her disdain for ShinRa- because who didn’t hate the capitalist leeches, after all?- she still couldn’t fully trust this newcomer. Hatred for ShinRa doesn’t always translate into loyalty towards rebel factions. Naturally Tifa kept herself guarded, coiled into herself, ready to snap if she needed to. 

But the snap never came. Instead of the shock of the release of tension snapping, or the swing of a foot as the kick is released, Aerith instead soothed the muscle back into a relaxed position with the healing wind of her words, with the unspoken promises behind her earnest eyes. Slowly but surely, Aerith worked her way into Tifa’s trust. It was obvious that she was easy to trust, and even easier to care for.

Tifa needed to punch something, anything, to clear those selfish wants from her. 

Her knuckles itched with the urge. Cracking each knuckle one by one, resetting them in their sockets, did nothing to help the craving. Fingertips brushed the top of her left knuckle. It was permanently red, at this point, scarred from desperate scraps where she didn’t have time to get her bracers on and would just swing wildly. Her knuckles were reddened with older irritations, too. Moments in her youth when she refused to wear protection, citing a desperate need to get stronger. Thicker skin was both a literal and metaphorical requirement in the harsh mountains of Niebelheim. 

There were also newer marks on the skin, the thin flesh of a hand marred by the journey they’d faced so far.

Adorning the outer side of her right hand was a small burn mark, already finding itself healing with a silver lining of repaired tissue to boot. Aerith had healed that, back when she still held her staff in unsteady hands. Her eyes had widened in fear and horror, apologies flowing- she’d assumed she hadn’t done a good enough job since it would scar. Tifa hated that look on her face. Hell, she saved her hand from getting blown off her wrist from one of Mt Corel’s bombs, and Aerith was upset over some superficial scarring? 

Life truly was a remarkable thing to Aerith.

The urge to itch, to scratch, to claw was there. Her knuckles throbbed with the need for the numbing feeling of beating something senseless. Each hit released its own shot of endorphins- the pride of hitting something square on target a little high all on its own. 

Shaking herself out like a dog, Tifa tried to push back all the feelings. It was her job to keep a steady head, to keep everyone in line. They, the team, don’t have time for her stresses on top of the stress of trying to save the planet. But, but, but. Aerith did offer a helping ear. She couldn’t push that on her though, no need to build up that friction between them when they’d finally been able to get the water beneath their bridge. Now, their friendship was something sweet and intimate, they cared for each other in a simple way.

Selfishly, so selfishly, Tifa wanted to take more.

Tifa itched her knuckles to the rhythm of these thoughts, the ebb and flow and stretch and release. The scratching sensation was soothing, almost like a sharp caress. It scratched the itch of impact that her knuckles were craving. Back and forth, she dragged her fingernail along the crest of the bone, clawing away at the skin. As if she was trying to force her way inside her hand. Breathing turning ragged, she picked up the pace, scratching away at her knuckles as she scrubbed herself of all thoughts. Chasing that blissful calm, she itched to numbness, then back to white pain as the sore skin hissed in protest.

Desperation gripped Tifa’s hands, urging them into motion, making them scratch harder and deeper and with increased fervour. Her body shook as dry sobs clogged her throat. A low keening sound left her throat, an anguished sound muffled behind clenched teeth. Red raw and bleeding, her hands pounded with the weight of a heartbeat, electric shocks of pain shooting up and through the area. Finally, that dull hum of pain fogged over her brain.

A warm heat pressed against her back. Shocked out of her trance, she gasped and flinched against the small hands cupping each of her biceps.

“Ti...fa?” 

The soft voice wrapped itself around Tifa’s mind, washing it in cool reassurance. Still frozen, she allowed those hands to wrap around her midsection and hold her tight, just as the words did. Tightening just a fraction before settling into a comfortable cage, the owner of the arms spoke again, the weight of sleep dragging each syllable into a crooned whisper. 

“Tifa, why aren’t you asleep?”

“I-”

“You woke me up, I could hear your nervous energy from thirty miles away.”

Tifa started, an apology bubbling up. She broke from the-

_ warm, comforting, secure, safe place. a place of a thousand reassurances and the distinct feeling of contentment. a place of the sun kissing skin and eternal softness. it was perfect, tranquil, a reassurance, a- _

hug, and whipped around. Aerith’s gently teasing smile greeted her. Eyes wide in shock and awe, Tifa greedily lapped up the sight of the woman before her. Rumpled by sleep, but still with an eternal brightness. Backlit by a steady stream of moonlight, the edges of Aerith’s frame seemed to glow with an ethereal silver lining. 

“Just kidding.” she smiled, the edges of her mouth curling up in delicate amusement.

The moment bubbled between them, her smile shifting from mirth to something infinitely more tender. Tifa watched her expression change with a blank shock, her mind still trying to catch up.

Aerith reached out, now that they were face to face, and cupped Tifa’s jaw in her hand with something akin to reverence. A pad of a thumb skirted across Tifa’s cheek, leaving trails of warmth in its wake. Caressing the skin gently with soothing circles, she skimmed the surface of Tifa’s face. Under the gentle stroking ministrations, Tifa felt her face go lax and her body slump.

Tension and release. 

Kindness, that’s what it was. Aerith was doing this out of courtesy, out of kindness.

Frowning, Aerith motioned towards Tifa’s mauled knuckles. Her hand flinched, as if to reach toward it. Tifa went to cover it, ashamed of the proof of her loss of control. Before she could, Aerith looped a hand around her wrist, previous indecision now gone. Helpless to the movement, everything in Tifa screamed in protest, wanting to conceal her scratched hand and the shame that accompanied it. With her hand acting as a band of reassuring pressure, Aerith wordlessly dragged Tifa to her still warm bed. Maintaining eye contact, even as she walked backward, Aerith gently pulled Tifa along with her, until the back of her shins met with the bedframe. Tucking a leg underneath her as she all but collapsed on the soft mattress, she looked up, a question in her eyes.

“Let me look?”

The whispered question-

_ promise, vow, request to look inside and help and heal and pull back together as many times as needed. to take the hand and knit it back together, heal the flesh, heal the heart, the thing already cracked, the thing that- _

broke the thick silence that had built between them, shattering it into small pieces, like flakes of snow drifting around the room. Weakly, Tifa sat beside her, pointedly ignoring the shake in her knees. Cradling the fingers, Aerith inspected the cracked and clawed skin. A distressed look flashed across her face, brows narrowing before smoothing over into calm concern. Strong, sure fingers held Tifa’s in place, while the thumb felt around the area. The pressure stung slightly. Tifa knew she was staring, couldn’t help staring at the sure hands handling her own battered and bruised hands with such sweetness. A slight tug on her fingers showed that Aerith wanted her attention. 

“Ti’?”

Tifa’s eyes remained rooted to the same spot, looking at and through the point of contact of their two hands. Aerith made a small hum of displeasure. 

“Tifa, please,” she said, tugging again, a little firmer this time.

Aerith’s other hand brushed against Tifa’s chin, a featherlight touch pushing it upward until their eyes met. With almost magnetic force, Aerith pulled all Tifa’s attention to her twin pools of green. 

“Let me heal it.” 

A soft demand left her lips, but Tifa only saw the plea in her eyes.

Tifa conceded.

Wordless thanks spilled from Aerith, if the softening of her expression was anything to go by. Feeling the tug on her hand again, Tifa let her hand go limp, prone, in Aerith’s own hand. Delicately, Aerith pressed a short kiss to her outermost knuckle, the pinkie. Tifa felt herself distantly flush, her mind blank, reduced to the burning point of contact. Peering behind dense lashes, Aerith shyly looked back to Tifa, as if asking permission to continue.

Dully, Tifa nodded.

Once more, she met Tifa’s punished skin with a soft kiss, knitting the wounds back together with a healing spell flowing from her hand, her lips, her eyes. Breathlessly, Tifa watched on as the wounds on her hand-

_ and the wounds on her heart, Gaea the wounds on her heart were closing themselves up and crawling up begging to be released and cured and- _

healed themselves up instantaneously. 

Swallowing, Tifa pushed down the heart in her throat. 

Awash with the cooling sensation of a cure, Tifa shuddered with something akin to pleasure. Bliss, maybe. The urge to say something, anything, took over as Aerith pressed one final kiss to the skin, reducing the residual redness. Clamping this down, she waited for Aerith to make the next move. Aerith chose to release Tifa’s hand, letting her own fall to the ankle tucked beneath her.

With her newly repaired hand, Tifa spread her fingers wide, then curled them into a fist. Stretch and release. 

“Thank you.” Tifa croaked, voice thick with things unsaid. 

A sudden wave of timidness seemed to wash over Aerith, usually so headstrong and forthcoming. The small tinkling of Aerith toying with the small star charm of her anklet barely reached the corners of the room, instead it seemed to stay within the tiny tender bubble they’d created on the bedsheets. A tiny hum escaped Aerith’s closed lips. She nodded, her downcast face obscured by messy bangs. Shoulders tensing minutely, only caught by Tifa’s fixated gaze, Aerith seemed to come to a decision. 

She reached out for the healed hand, lacing her fingers through Tifa’s. As she laid down on the still warm sheet, she pulled Tifa along with her. The two of them fell together, legs tangling in the narrow single bed. 

“I-” Tifa began, breathing into the small space between them.

Aerith shook her head, and pulled their conjoined hands towards her. A row of butterfly kisses danced atop Tifa, beginning at the wrist, working their way up. She stopped, lips brushing the now fully healed knuckle. Against the bone she muttered:

“Later. Sleep.”

Tifa, being a straightforward person, allowed herself to follow instruction. As the weight of fatigue pulled at her, she allowed herself to bask in the safe heat of Aerith’s cheek nuzzling their joined hands.

**Author's Note:**

> Aerti just makes me soft okay and the newest trailer sent me into a frenzy and I needed to get my feelings out about these lesbians. then it turned into me projecting onto tifa but like that's fine. 
> 
> come see me yell about things on twitter i guess (@greenghoulguy).


End file.
